


Better to Raze Hell

by RipAndTear (MundaneSalad)



Category: Doom (Video Games), Doom: Eternal, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rated For Violence, This started off as a joke but then we got really invested in it, brief mentions of pepsi, this is more doom fanfic than spn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneSalad/pseuds/RipAndTear
Summary: Castiel Supernatural is sentenced to Superhell.Doomguy breaks him out.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Doom Marine | Doom Slayer | Doomguy
Comments: 36
Kudos: 65





	Better to Raze Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Mod Rip: Do not take me for someone who likes this terrible show. I don’t. It fucking sucks. Granted, there was a time when I was a teenager where I watched it. But that was nearly a decade ago and I am doing absolutely no research on that part. I am simply here for doomguy.
> 
> Mod Tear: Honestly; lowkey I’m kinda just putting a little salt and some chopped onions in this fic, Mod Rip is the real chef of this meal.
> 
> Mod Rip: You are the secret special spicy sauce that makes it fun and flirty.
> 
> Mod Tear: b-bro, are we about to kiss? :flushed:

When you’ve been there long enough, Hell’s brimstone engulfed atmosphere was nearly indistinguishable from dull-gold skies of Mars. It was just about the same chemical makeup, after all. The crimson planet’s hue originates from the rich iron oxide dusting the surface, however Hell’s hue was saturated with bile. That, and the sulfuric odor permeating the very essence of this realm.

Hell was in a perpetual and paradoxical state of being very dry and very wet. Dry from the ever present raging inferno of suffering and wet with vicersa and other various bodily fluids secreted by the demons of Hell.

One sinner may find themself in a soggy, sadistic realm taunting them with their earthly vices; Another may be confined to brutally arid, barren, empty wastes reflective of their desolate souls. Hell has a habit of splintering off into diverse parallels of itself ad infinitum. This particular incarnation of Hell was guttural, primeval, and interspersed with occasional glimpses of some futuristic civilization that was shattered along the xanthous landscape.

Castiel lied slumped over in the corner of his cell. Captured. Abandoned. Exposed.

He had professed his feelings to the human Dean Winchester, and that was his downfall. His undoing. Cas’s years on earth had grown him as a person, even if it did result in him being denounced by any holy being. What he was unprepared for was the prospect that the one human - the one person he ever truly loved - didn't share the sentiment. 

Cas was condemned to a cage made of steel and the rib bones of creatures unknown to earth. The gore of others spattered on the floor, tainting the air with the stench of iron and decay. Heck, even a sweltering gust of sulfur was a breath of fresh air in the acrid little space. His cramped cage was one of hundreds, possibly thousands, in what must have been a warehouse for living creatures. It was dark, but if he craned his neck just so, he could see outside. The eternally yellow sky blazed past ancient stone arches assuring the prisoners that there was a world out there that, even if you escape, it will not accept you.

His confession cursed him to...whatever sweet, unexpected, Hell this was. Beyond unfamiliar, in the downright alien.

Cas gripped the bone bars with all his might, but he could not will them to crumble. He was powerless here. The demons here were nothing resembling the shapes of humans or angels, fallen or otherwise. Huge minotaurian bodies affixed with metal weaponry hulked in and out of the room. Spherical monsters with piercing green eyes floated lazily in the sky, with no discernable modes of flight. Imp-like creatures skittered along the walls and, based on the sound, the ceiling. Castiel’s cell neighbors were lifeless at best and twisted derisions of humans at the most unfortunate of instances.

What was his purpose here? Surely this was his punishment for letting himself embrace humanity. Will he be food for some infernal behemoth? Or perhaps merely a strip of meat to rile an opponent in gladiatorial combat? Some of the passing demons spoke of using souls for a power source of some kind.

Or at least they were, before there was a commotion. A cacophony of unholy screaming. Demons milled about, hissing and roaring. Gunshots boomed in the distance. Someone had broken into the fortress, or, based on the fear of his captors, some _thing_.

The uproar of a violent skirmish was quickly replaced with the wailing of the damned. Cas couldn’t see from his squat prison. But even without vantage, he knew some force was dispatching the demons with extreme prejudice. As the warehouse cleared out, so did the aura of palpable evil that had previously filled the air. He was left with silence, save for the occasional death croak of the other forsaken. For a second, a glint of hope sparked in his heart that someone—or maybe even any of his friends—had come to save him. But, there was no way it was any earthly hunter, Castiel would be at least partially correct on that assumption. 

The silence was broken by the sound of the steady stride of a pair of boots, heavy boots. Human. The footsteps echoed off the walls, amplified in the gore-stained stone. For the first time in a long time, a dull dagger of fear plunged the tip of its blade into his heart. There was a chance, growing ever larger, that the being that had slayed all the demons was here to smite him, too. Castiel had been rendered powerless, abandoned, helpless. No weapons, he was rendered completely defenseless. This was Hell, after all.

A male voice rang out.

“Demonic presence at significantly reduced levels,” he said, tinny and distorted, as if over a speaker. “Detecting faint divine presence.”

Cas was frozen in place; Internally, he was furiously screaming every epithet from English to Enochian. He scrambled the pockets of Jimmy’s trench coat, looking for anything that can be used to fend off, well, literally anything. He came up with nothing but lint and a stray hamburger wrapper. There was always the necktie, the classic last-minute garrote, but who knows if the being prowling the aisles even had a windpipe, let alone one that was available to strangulation.

The being came closer with each thundering footstep. At last, they were in sight. 

He was a mountain of a man, clad in olive-green armor. A blue-lensed helmet obscured his face, but the way he carried himself conveyed the air that this man, this warrior, was a knight of divine wrath. His exposed biceps were enormous, slick with the blood, bile, and sweat of countless demons. A being of pure rage and power, but still a human nonetheless.

He looked directly at the angel. The fear plunged deeper.

The marine approached the cage, head strong and furious. Terror paralyzed Cas. In any other situation he’d be able to muster up the will of God; but here, in this forsaken place, he was alone. His eyes widened, unable to look away but incapable of witnessing his own doom.

The warrior clenched his fist. A bayonet slid out from his left gauntlet. The blade was longer than Cas’s forearm. His host’s sympathetic nervous system flooded with chemicals, all screaming at him to move, fight, do something. Literally anything. The warrior raised his blade, glistening with blood.

Cas’s body moved for him, and it threw himself backward into the bars of the cage, tossing his arms over his head in a sort of futile attempt to shield himself from witnessing his own evisceration.

The warrior brought the bayonet down on the cage’s lock, shattering it. Either as an extra measure or a show of might, the warrior proceeded to rip the door of the unlocked cage off of its hinges and tossed it aside.

Castiel pulled his arms down reluctantly to face his apparent savior, but sucked in another breath when the warrior’s hand reached down into the cage. He then proceeded to pull Cas up by the lapels of his coat and hoisted him to his feet, the angel was taken aback when the warrior then took a brief moment to smooth the front of the coat he had just wrinkled. It all happened in just a couple of short seconds but it felt like it was all in slow motion.

“Divine presence detected,” chirped the mechanical voice again. It was apparent now that it was coming from the armor itself, rather than the wearer. 

“You’re…. not going to hurt me?” Cas asked, a bit shaken.

The marine shook his head. His helmet had an occult sigil on it which was only apparent up close. It was in a language unknown to him, most likely not even of his usual realm. Cas had no idea if it was even demonic at all.

“Thank you for freeing me,” he continued.

The warrior did not respond.

Suddenly, the two were assaulted with an eardrum shattering bellow from behind the warrior. An infernal beast leapt from a shadowy corner, sinking its teeth into the shoulder of the warrior. With a single swift motion, the warrior yanked the creature from his back and slammed it into the ground. It yelped in agony as the beast of a man plunged his bayonet into its chest, bisecting its torso. The demon’s blood splattered the two of them, a fine red mist coating Castiel’s face.

When rent asunder, the monster’s innards resembled a spiral-sliced ham. Castiel smacked his lips together with disgust at the correlation between ground beef and this creature’s cadaver in his mind. The rancid iron flavor of the beast’s blood did not help, either.

The knight looked down at the bite marks in his pauldrons, mildly forlorn even through his opaque helmet. He wiped the demon slobber off with the back of his hand, scraping it on to his thigh. Smears of blood striped his leg armor, marking the places he most often cleaned his bayonet. 

“Immediate demonic presence eradicated,” Chimed in the mechanical voice in the suit. “Incoming demonic presence detected. Approximately 90 seconds before the next hoard. Would you like me to map out the most convenient exit route?”

A second voice, much deeper and sinister, took control of the speaker. This, too, did not belong to the warrior.

“You do not have the time to make friends, Doomslayer. Civilians are forsaken here. I suggest you move on.”  It said. This entity’s words dripped with malice, almost demonic in itself. 

“I am not a civilian. How many people do you have in there?” Cas asked, furrowing his brow. There was no single consensus between all available parties. The warrior held up a finger, indicating only himself.

“I am VEGA,” introduced the friendlier mechanical voice. “I am a sentient intelligence assisting the Doomslayer. Joining me over the intercom is Dr. Samuel Hayden, lead director of the Armored Response Coalition, former chairman of the United Aerospace Corporation, former director of the-”

The deeper voice cut it off.

“VEGA is just an AI, I’m broadcasting remotely over a communications network. The Doomslayer does not have time to idle.” Dr. Hayden declared. “However, I am curious about this ‘divine presence’ as it seems.”

“The Doomslayer,” repeated Castiel. “You slay doom.”

The Doomslayer gave a half shrug at his title, as if to acknowledge that is what people call him, it wasn’t necessarily a chosen name. The Doomslayer stood there and tilted his head towards him. Cas was never good at reading humans, but even the Slayer’s minute movements were attempting to convey….something. 

“60 seconds before incoming hellspawn,” chirped VEGA. 

The Slayer tensed up but otherwise didn’t budge. 

_Is he looking at something?_ Cas thought. He turned around to follow his line of sight but ultimately nothing was there beyond the aisles of cages and the corpses of demons. When he turned back around, he was met with the outstretched hand of the Slayer. 

“Oh, I know this one,” Cas said with a slight grin. He enthusiastically slapped the warrior’s meaty palm in Hell’s most lateral high-five. The Slayer’s helm tilted down slightly, as if processing the interaction and his misconstrued request for an introduction.

The Doomslayer let out a slight sigh, stepped forward, grabbed Cas’s right hand, cupped it in his other hand, and gently shook it. The clasp of his grip was firm but, certainly not wrist-snapping; it was secure, the handshake of a trustworthy person. Despite wearing thick gauntlets, the Slayer’s hands were surprisingly warm, if still covered in a slight layer of Hell’s grime. It was all weirdly familiar, weirdly comforting. It clicked for Cas. 

“This is a greeting, isn’t it?” He realized aloud. 

The Slayer gave a sharp head-nod.

“My name is Castiel, I am an angel of…” he hesitated, then opted to end the sentence right there. 

The comms relay crackled alive. Dr. Hayden gave a cryptic chuckle. The ground shook.

“Demon horde incoming,” updated VEGA.

The sound of infernal clamoring began to quickly encroach towards their location, the Slayer knew he had to act fast, otherwise their party was very swiftly going to be dogpiled by masses of gnashing teeth and claws. He was feeling a bit dubious concerning the nature of this guy’s divinity but he wasn’t about to test out whether or not he could take on the damned with his bare hands or not. 

The Slayer spotted his exit route. He threw one of his arms around Castiel’s waist and securely pulled him to his side, lifting him off the ground. Cas’s usual vapid expression was replaced with one of slight bewilderment as he was once again, plucked from his spot to be waved around like a doll. With no time to protest, the Slayer ran over the edge of the fortress, leaping into the sulfurous abyss. With a superhuman feat of strength, he landed firmly on his feet, shrugging off the jump as if it were merely a bunnyhop. The impact jolted Cas’s whole body, momentarily limp like a dead fish.

Cas grabbed the pauldron of the Slayer to turn himself to look back at where they had just descended from, it appeared to be some sort of steely, space aged cliffside fortress, rust flaking off of gaping holes at its sides and embers buffeting its spires. He could see the shadows of the demons approaching from the farside of the garrison. 

“I can handle myself in a battle, I just can’t do it barehanded.” Castiel groused. “Now can you please put me down.” 

The Slayer released his grip and the angel tumbled to the ground, Cas picked himself up and dusted off his jacket. 

“You happen to have something that I can borrow to help me not get ripped to shreds?”

The Doomslayer pulled out one of the guns from his arsenal, less futuristic than the others but still nonetheless ornately detailed, and thrust it into the open hands of the angel. It was a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun. It was familiar and weighty, but Cas hesitated on the gun. Wordlessly, the Slayer produced a handful of shells from an ammo pocket on his thigh. Rest assured, this was no salt rock. The Doomslayer waited for the angel to accept his gift, Cas however, simply let the gun slump limply in his arms.

“I don’t use guns,” said the angel. True, he was more familiar with knives, blessed blades, but the hordes of the sinister here might be a bit more than what one man with a dagger can handle.

The Doomslayer, slightly forlorn, returned the buckshot to his pocket. He thought for a moment, not particularly fond of escort missions. He took the gun back with little protest.

Instead, he replaced it with his friend: the chainsaw.

The mechanical voice in the suit chirped again.

“Would you care for instructions on how to-” 

Cas waved off VEGA as if it had a physical presence.

“No, thanks. I am familiar with the more violent uses of gardening tools,” he assured. He ripped the cord, the motor roaring to life. With a squeeze of the trigger, the teeth on the blade whirred into a furious gnashing. “Groovy, as you might say.” 

A small, crooked smirk creeping onto Cas’s face as he watched the chain rip along the machine.

The Doomslayer gave a gauntleted thumbs-up.

A raspy scream pierced the air. The ground exploded between them, throwing Cas backwards. A barrage of rockets blasted the land, launching rocks and shrapnel in every direction. They were caught in a blinding cloud of sulfurous dust. The Doomslayer was unmoved, having shielded himself from the impact. He reached for a gun, a futuristic plasma rifle, and checked the magazine. It was tragically low in energy. The Slayer gritted his teeth and slid the rounds back into the rifle. 

He’d have to make this quick, there really was no time to f-

A mass of screaming limbs and metal dive bombed into the slayer. He was caught between demon claws and the solid earth in a disorienting whiplash. 

“Demonic presence at unsafe levels,” declared VEGA unhelpfully.

As the dust cleared, Castiel found his bearings. Dull pain radiated through his limbs, a reminder of his powerlessness.

On top of the Slayer was a peutrid beast, a rotting and emaciated corpse. It was driven by a huge metal machine riveted to its skeleton. The demon was curiously topheavy from two large booster rockets affixed to its shoulders. The Doomslayer blasted beams of blue plasma into the fiend, but that didn’t discourage it from clawing furiously at the warrior’s head. The energy rounds ran out far too quickly for comfort. Unable to grab a different weapon, the Slayer was caught quite literally between a demon and a hard place. He bashed the stock of the gun into the skeleton’s head, but it refused to let up on its screeching. The fiend ripped the rifle out of the Slayer’s hands and tossed it aside, pinning him down.

More screaming filled the air, as a warp in space opened in the sky. Monsters poured out like pus from a bad zit.

Cas scrambled to find the chainsaw, which was humming away softly in the dirt beside him. He willed himself to stand up, ignoring the profound numbness in his left leg. He stumbled as he hoisted the chainsaw before him. The machine in his hands felt alive. It was an animal, angry and snarling. 

“Hey! Shitskull!” Cas yelled at the demon. The monster hesitated, alerted of the other hunter’s presence for the first time since its ambush. It screeched and turned around, only to be met with Castiel thrusting the chainsaw blade into its emaciated torso. The teeth ripped into its rotting flesh, tearing it to shreds. For the second time that day, demon blood splattered his face.

Castiel continued to shove the chainsaw through the beast until it swung free, laterally bisecting its torso. The shredded beast toppled like a gore-filled piñata, bursting with a meaty slap. The Slayer tossed it’s top half off of himself and lifted his head towards Cas. Their eyes met, they nodded with a brief respite of relief between them. 

In this moment, the Slayer acknowledged that Cas was who he said he was. The distinctly aloof countenance that Castiel held previously was replaced with one of a feverish intensity. He was panting, bracing himself against the pain before lifting the chainsaw once again. He’s seen humans struggle to tear through the leathery flesh of a demon before with some trouble, but Cas appeared to have dispatched the revenant relatively efficiently. Perhaps there was something more to the universe than humans, demons, and aliens. 

The sky darkened from the sheer number of demons spilling out of the hole from which the Revenant came. Demons never mourned their losses, nor they were happy at the sight of their own failure. 

“Calculating the odds of total success based on ammunition reserves, med kits, and unforeseen external factors, continuation of the current mission has a higher failure rate than usual. I’ve elected to ready an exit portal, we should leave immediately.” VEGA’s usual very even tonality was punctuated with some urgency. 

Electricity buzzed in the air. With a sharp crackle, a blue burst of blue light exploded from behind the Doomslayer. It struggled to maintain shape before forming into a wide semi-circle, extending from the ground to well above his head. The door between space flickered between the barren sulfurous landscape of Hell and the sleek steel interior of some sort of spaceship. The warps between worlds can never be sustained for long, but VEGA would have to power the portal to The Fortress of Doom for a few seconds longer.

“With the **Skull Key** already in our possession, there is no need to linger,” Added Dr. Hayden.

The Slayer waved Cas over as he strode towards the mouth of the portal. Castiel took a step towards him, but his leg gave out under the weight of his body. Mortality was often thrust upon him, but he could never get used to it. Cas could slowly feel the pain permeate his body and send jolts of pain singing throughout his muscles and veins, it made him feel mortal, horribly mortal. He tried to push himself up off the ground, a hand still on the humming chainsaw; but was instead greeted with the Slayer picking up the weapon and pulling Cas’s arm over his shoulder so he could help him into the ship.

The Slayer carried the angel through the destabilizing portal. The threshold was barely behind them when it crashed close. 

Electricity scattered outward, finding solace in the cold steel interiors of the Fortress of Doom. They were greeted by the utter calm of high Earth orbit. The two of them had been transported to the bridge of the fortress, a large circular room housing the controls for the whole facility. The main control panel faced a huge window looking out just beyond the Earth, at the endless array of stars lining the universe. In the back of the room was a humanoid made of white plastic and steel. They were torn to bits and suspended in a beam of light. 

The frigid atmosphere of the ship’s interior sobered Castiel from his adrenaline fueled energy bump and was blanketed with a wave of agony and discomfort that made his vision blurry. The air was cold but easy to breathe, his lungs choked on the pain that radiated throughout his body and he let out a weak cough. He could barely even perceive the Slayer as they trundled through the fortress, everything around him felt so obscured. The world around him darkened right before his eyes, and Castiel was out cold; hanging limp in the grasp of the Slayer. 

***

When he came to, Cas found himself on some kind of medical slab in some kind of inner medical bay, completely alone. The slab was cold and unaccommodating to the comfort of his human form, but it was what he needed to keep his spine aligned. He, at the very least, felt much better when he awoke, incredibly drowsy, but his pain was lulled to a quiet murmur, a true godsend. He lifted his head as VEGA’s voice filled the room.

“According to my scans, you appear to have no abdominal hemorrhage or perforation, however, you have sustained multiple bruises, a minor concussion, as well as a partial fracture on your fibula.” It declared. Cas looked down at his blood soaked coat and pulled his arm up from the slab. His sleeve was fast adhered with dried demon fluid. 

“Fibula...” he echoed flatly, still feeling dazed. The angel felt a dull wave of pain trickle throughout his body and reverberate around his leg. 

Something caught the corner of his eye. A small, fuzzy blob nestled in the med bay door frame. It was roughly the same size and color of a loaf of bread, but significantly hairier. Cas turned his head to better identify the object, but the blob was gone. He figured that perhaps the medication hadn’t quite worn off yet. 

He swung his legs over the side of the slab and could distinctly feel that there was something different about the more contused of his extremities. He lifted his pant leg to find a high tech metal splint attached to his shin.

“ _Was that always there?_ ” he murmured, furrowing his brow. 

His line of thinking was suddenly cut short, as a small, tinkling noise echoed from down the hall. The fortress’s metal walls reverberated almost every noise it captured, but even this sound was so faintly audible, that Cas couldn’t quite discern if it was music or simply a trick of the mind. It vexed him, because it was very unlike the quiet rumble of the ship’s internal mechanisms. 

Cas brought himself back to the moment, pulled the pant leg back down, and slid off the slab. Anything but the slightest bit of weight caused his leg to buckle out from under him, but he could manage with a limp.

“It is advised that you rest while you are still not fully recovered-” VEGA’s pleaded, but its attempt to cajole Cas to return to the slab was in vain. Castiel was already shambling out of the medical bay to head towards the strange music that called to him.

The ship was a bit of a labyrinth, more ornate and baroque than one would expect for a ship like this. As he stumbled around to find the source of the music, Cas found the distinct lack of life to be rather interesting considering the size and magnitude of the ship. Not to mention, he felt like there were eyes on him, aside from the AI. It mentioned they had some kind of doctor with them, perhaps he’ll bump into him around here somewhere. But for now, he was on a mission. And his mission was coming to a close as the echo grew louder and louder. The music was bizarre and bouncy, completely out of place for the abode of a demon killing champion.

As he descended the staircase he was hit with a scent that he didn’t expect to ever smell again: pizza. 

The hefty steel doors unlatched and slid open, giving way to a room with a large panoramic view of earth’s visage, much like the one near the portal they exited from. But even that was a vague memory that gave him a headache when he tried to remember. The strange music became more distinct, it was cheerful, as if a flute and some tinkling bells were having a conversation. His eye was drawn to a huge, neatly organized shelf of collectable toys. He shuffled past a wall of mounted ornate heavy metal style bass guitars. The Slayer was a reader, based on his packed bookcase of sci-fi pulp novels. There was an extensive workbench, cluttered with partially assembled guns and bits of armor. A glowing skull stood out among the scattered tools, presumably the key that Dr. Hayden had been seeking. Cas descended a short set of stairs to find the Slayer sitting at a computer console. His setup was surprisingly cozy. His computer chair had a fleece blanket draped over the back. A box of half-eaten pizza lay open on the desk. 

The monitors displayed a perplexing image, contrary to the otherwise morbid scenery of the fortress. It was a colorful, idyllic depiction of life on Earth. The inhabitants all have endearing, neotenous features. The Slayer was controlling a simplistic human character, which remained fixed at the center of the screen. He ran around soft looking green grass, rounded symmetrical trees with fruit on them, and animals who walked on two feet. The human on the screen was speaking with a pink bunny rabbit in what resembled human speech. Cas tilted his head, puzzled, he stood idle and observed for a couple of moments before posing his inquiry

“Why does the rabbit have the ability to speak?” he asked. “Has it eaten from the tree of knowledge as well?” Cas had absolutely no veneer of sarcasm in his tone whatsoever. 

It was so perplexing to him that he hadn’t even noticed that the Slayer wasn’t wearing his helm, or the vast majority of his armor. The Slayer’s gaze broke from the game and he stared at him, incredulous. Castiel still had dried blood crusting and flaking on his stubble, the light from the video game reflecting in his eyes. The Slayer had no answer for his question, he picked up a slice of pizza. Cas turned his half lidded gaze to the Slayer. 

“So you _are_ human.” Castiel’s eyes scanned the face of the rather human Doomslayer, dark brown hair, a strong jaw with an intense countenance, a deeply furrowed brow with small, jagged scars striping his cheeks and nose, with eyebags that tell a story of mortality and pain. The man had a resting face of rage, which seemed pretty apt all things considered. 

The Slayer bit into a slice of pizza as he manipulated the thumbstick with his free hand, returning his gaze to the screen. After taking another, more sizable bite, he set the controller down and offered a fresh slice to the angel. Cas shook his head slightly, lifting a hand to better refuse the slice. All the while, he maintained eye contact with the vacant eyed human character and its little butterfly net. The Slayer quirked an eyebrow and shrugged, setting it back down to continue his gaming. It was only then that the angel grabbed a slice, mulling on the disgusting yet comforting spiced meats and greasy cheese.

The intercom came alive.

“Angel, you recovered faster than anticipated,” mused Dr. Hayden. “Despite VEGA’s recommendations. While you’re up, I request you bring the **Skull Key** to the bridge.” Castiel’s face twisted with discomfort when he heard Samuel refer to him as “angel”. 

The **skull key** sat on the workbench, glowing softly. He picked it up, surprised how warm it was. As the name implies, the **skull key** was a skull, shaped like an adult human but much smaller, carved from a glowing blue agate. Icy flames burned in its eye sockets. Demons had a tendency of being dramatic, but this kind of sublime macabre flair didn’t seem to fit the Doomslayer’s brand of demons. It wouldn’t be lost on him if this object did, in fact, have an equally morbid lock to accompany it. 

“I can do that,” said Cas, unsure where to direct the statement. 

He hobbled up the stairs to the door, wincing slightly under the pain. The Slayer immediately put down the controller and rushed over. He held out his arm for support. Cas, unsure what to make of this gesture, simply looked him up and down. The Doomslayer had not totally changed out of his armor. While his grieves and boots were still on, he had replaced his body armor with a faded gray t-shirt that read “Quakecon ‘99”. He still wore the same expression of content disguised as subtle fury.

“I think I can manage,” said Cas. 

The Slayer furrowed his brow, unsatisfied with the answer. He held out a finger, wordlessly telling him to hold on a moment. The Slayer rushed up the stairs and out of the room. His heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Gradually they faded, before a sudden metallic yank reverberated through the walls. He returned with an aluminum pole bent roughly in the shape of a crutch. It had been a remnant of an otherwise untouched handrail from elsewhere in the fortress. A leftover memory from when other warriors lived here. Castiel’s exhausted, vacant expression dissolved as his eyes went from the crutch he was offered, to the Slayer. That moment, something softened deep inside of him. As he laid eyes on the make-shift crutch, something searing grabbed at his heart, squeezing it tight. The Slayer had reshaped an object, recontextualized its meaning, simply to relieve just a tiny bit of pain. All of the subtle gestures of kindness the Slayer had extended had finally culminated, hot and burning in his soul. Cas was taken aback.

“Thank you,” he said, barely eking out the words.

The Doomslayer softened, relaxing into a slight smile as he nodded in acknowledgement. He strode up the stairs and left down the hallway, further into the fortress.

With the crutch under his arm and the burning skull in his free hand, Castiel hobbled up to the bridge.

Cas hadn’t been able to get a good look at the bridge of the fortress since the Slayer brought him here before subsequently passing out. The machinery in the room all hummed together as one, the primary drives of the floating castle all constantly making sure it doesn’t fall out of Earth’s orbit. The controls were absolutely alien to him, with his eye being drawn to a large, glowing sphere in the center of the console. Engraved in it was the same occult rune that adorned the Slayer’s helm. It seemed unwise to touch anything. Curiously, one thing Cas hadn’t noticed previously were the multiple gargoyles tucked away in niches besides the machines. The burning blue flames illuminating the intricate steel walkways further cemented the intent of the architecture here to be both gothic and technologically advanced.

The **skull key** burned in his hand. He intended to deliver it to Dr. Hayden, yet nobody was here. On second thought, Cas realized he didn’t know what Dr. Hayden looked like. He stood there for a couple of minutes, waiting.

“Behind you," Dr.Hayden’s voice surrounded him, still echoing throughout the intercom. Cas turned around, finding nothing more than a few extra gargoyles and the wrecked robot suspended in a column of light. “Come closer.” 

Unless Dr. Hayden was a gargoyle or simply gave him the wrong directions, the only other possible source had to have been the destroyed machine. Cas looked down at the **skull key.**

“You’re Dr. Hayden,” he stated, rather than asking. 

“There should be a receptacle on the left-hand side of the console. Place the **skull key** in it, I can research it that way.” 

“You’re a robot.” A bold observation.

“Incorrect. I began as something else. I had a body with an unfortunate malady. Then I had a body that was much more durable, but that, too, was broken. This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, Castiel. You referred to yourself as an ‘angel’. You should know this.” Dr. Hayden said, a hint of weariness in his mechanical voice.

Mortality was never something that plagued Cas’s mind, having existed since before death set up shop. Out of his billion years, nearly all of his brushes with a definite end had happened within the last decade on Earth. His gaze drifted from the **skull key** to his bloodied slacks, and the broken leg it contained. Humans were frail, squishy things, but he truly did love them. 

“Perhaps it’s because I’ve had this vessel the longest, but it’s the one I’ve felt most comfortable in.” He started, but lost his train of thought. “Even if there are aspects of grace I miss having.” If Dr. Hayden was testing him, he didn’t know what the correct answer was.

“Nothing truly is as indestructible as the soul. However, the issue lies with catching a mortal soul as it flees from death.” The doctor had no physical form anymore, but there was a hint of a smile as he spoke.

Cas turned and hobbled over to the console. He put the **skull key** in the receptacle. Instantly, a light blue shield formed around it, locking it in place.

“Perhaps mankind will find a way to live on, with or without Hell. Whether that is their savior or downfall, that's not my problem, nor my desire. What say you?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at the intangible man.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Existing is nice. I recently discovered what Pepsi is and I’ve just been...vibing at this point,” he shrugged.

The familiar stride of the Slayer caught Cas’s periphery, his even footsteps that seemed uncharacteristically calm for someone that looked like him. His arms were full. He set some of his clutter, a paper bag and a cutting board piled high with vegetables, down on the ship’s console.

The Doomslayer had pulled the blanket off of the back of his desk chair, where it was currently thrown over one of his arms. He strode over to the beam of light that suspended the wrecked body of Samuel Hayden in mid air. Casually, he draped the blanket over the cyborg, as if he were a parakeet. Dr. Hayden was not pleased.

“I’m not going to bed, Slayer. You cannot force me to sleep. This entire fortress is my eyes and ears, your attempt to silence me is futile.” He grumbled over the intercom. The Doomslayer handwaved him off, dismissing him like an angsty teen commanded to do chores.

Cas leaned over to Dr. Hayden, who had not moved the entire time. He couldn’t determine if Dr. Hayden’s soul resided in the mechanical body or the spaceship itself. Perhaps both? The cloth-covered lump suspended in midair was of the same shape and stillness of a fleecy iceberg or a technological bedsheet ghost.

“Would you like me to remove the blanket?” he offered.

“That is unnecessary.”

Cas shrugged and took a step back from him.

The Slayer resumed his previous task, still unknown to Castiel. He picked up the paper bag and shook it, as if ringing a bell. Something small and brown seemed to bound down the hallway after him. It was the same bread shaped fuzzy blob as before. The blob excitedly circled the Slayer’s feet. It was only apparent up close that the creature was a rabbit, its long ears pricked straight up like a flagpole. The Slayer smiled and chuckled, hoarsely. 

Cas’s eyebrows flew up, he pointed at the little creature 

“That's a rabbit.” He declared incredulously. “You have a rabbit in space. Are you aware of the rabbit in your fortress?” His inquiry was genuine. Something about a rabbit being on a spaceship didn’t seem quite right to him but here it seemed even more out of place. 

The rabbit stood up on her hind legs with her nose twitching in the air as she recognized the sight of the cutting board. The Slayer smirked. He knelt beside the creature, setting down the bag and stroking it’s forehead gently. The rabbit was receptive, but was far more fascinated with the bag. It began nibbling on the corner of it. 

The Slayer unfolded a tower of objects that was haphazardly piled on the cutting board. First was an empty bowl which placed it on the ground. He reached into a bag and took out a fistful of hay, adding it to the dish. The Slayer scraped the chopped vegetables on top, completing the meal for the bunny. The rabbit’s attention was hastily diverted to her dinner, eating bits of lettuce and hay with gusto.

“Humans will keep animals they bond with for companionship and to cope with loneliness. Is this rabbit your pet?” asked Cas. 

The warrior nodded. He sat down beside the animal, crossing his legs. The Slayer was already a mountain of a man, but he was especially huge next to the bunny. The Slayer peeled a stray cucumber slice off the cutting board and bit into it. Cas watched as the Slayer lightly brushed the rabbit’s face with his finger. He gently scratched behind its ears. The creature seemed to melt into his hand. The contrast between the quiet tenderness of the rabbit and the rough, jagged edges of the Doomslayer was almost hypnotising. Cas didn’t know what it was, if his concussion was making him delirious or what; but something deep inside him made him wish he could be held like that by…

There was a thump, and the ache in Cas’s heart momentarily abated. He looked down, the Slayer patted the ground next to him.

Cas squinted, scrutinizing the hand taps, then the rabbit, then the Slayer’s content expression, back to the hand.

“Is this some sort of rabbit-bonding technique?” he asked. The Slayer simply smiled wider and nodded downward, patting the ground harder.

“He wants you to sit down,” Dr. Hayden said, irritated. 

Cas carefully lowered himself to the ground, avoiding hitting his injured leg best he could. He had no choice but to splay them out, feeling a bit awkward in the process. He couldn’t help but continue to remain transfixed on the scene, Cas thought he knew plenty of the distinct nuances of humanity’s joys but to be continuously surprised with each new experience was a delight in itself.

Yes, angels were meant to be messengers of God’s love but to angels themselves, it was an impersonal thing. It was not something angels took part in. The most they understood was _agape_ , charity. God’s love for man, and man’s love of God. It was only his time on earth he learned why humans developed feelings for each other. Love came in different varieties. The Slayer’s act of petting the rabbit was _storge_ , love between family. The desire to nurture and to be nurtured, regardless of being of blood relation or found through mutual understanding. There was love between friends, they may in time become as close as family. Then there was love with passion, most foreign to him of all. And yet, one Cas developed from when he first lifted _him_ from Hell. It’s a special kind of heartbreak to learn that that particular love is unrequited. It burned more poignantly than any kind of Hellfire he could withstand.

Castiel took a chance, he reached out his hand to try to stroke the bunny’s soft looking fur, she stopped, and pressed her ears to her back. She was cautious, but his approach cued her to make a break for it. The scent of the unfamiliar human spooked her. She scampered to the Slayer, burying her face into one of his resting hands. He stroked her head and wordlessly scooped up one of Castiel’s hands and closed it. He pulled it over the bunny, letting her sniff it. The gesture took Cas by total surprise. As the Slayer maintained his grip, he could feel his own hands grow more clammy, despite his wishes. The Doomslayer was still so warm, just like when they first shook hands. He wanted his entire being to be wrapped in that same warmth, in his head he got caught up in a fantasy where the Slayer pulled him into his arms and pressed firm kisses to his jawline; it made his heart pound inside of his ears.

Cas was jolted from his daydream when he felt the strangest sensation on his knuckles, the rabbit had been grooming his fingers. When he looked back up to the Slayer, there was joy twinkling in his eyes.

“It’s tasting me,” said Cas, taken aback.

The Doomslayer scooped up the bunny and, without prior input, placed it on Cas’s lap. He was stunned by this action, afraid of harming the creature. The rabbit was heavier than he thought, but not cumbersome. Comfortable, even. He slowly unclenched his hand, spreading out his fingers. He gently ran his hand though the rabbit’s fur. The creature’s skin gently twitched under his touch. The fur was so invitingly soft. So welcoming. The rabbit relaxed, leaning into his palm, it delighted Castiel much more than he expected something as simple as that could be. The toastiness of her embrace confounded him in a manner, it was wonderful. It was all kind of wonderful in its own incredibly strange way. In what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, he was condemned to Hell for falling in love and rescued by a complete stranger. In an unfathomable turn of events, _He_ was the one being raised from perdition. _He_ was the one by which the forces of evil were defeated. 

It was odd, almost overwhelming. 

It was new, and nice.

Cas wished he could find a better way to thank the Slayer. Caring for his pet was a start.

“Does your rabbit have a name?” he asked.

The Doomslayer spoke for the first time since their meeting. His voice was hoarse, strained, no louder than a whisper. It carried a history in itself, of a man who spent years screaming, despite how futile he was told. Yet he keeps fighting.

“Her name is Daisy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written by Rip (mundanesalad.tumblr.com) and Tear (cremepyro.tumblr.com)
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Insults? Drop them below!


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